Loneliness. The salt of Love:
Bringing out the richer flavor;
Preserving it in every clime;
Sweet and bitter both to savor.
For in longing, Man comes thronging
Even through cold, fetid grime
In trenches, or old benches
Eaten by the glutton Time
For a chance to hear a rhyme
In the voice of gentle dove;
For that glimpse of star above;
For that glove that's like his glove;
For a morsel of True Love.
How long will his rations last?
Shall the sailor break his teeth
On his tack; or tack his mast,
Turn into a port of thieves—
Alligators on shore leaves,
Alley cats, and cheap "achieves"—
Toss a coin to get a snack?
He knows full that never sates him.
He knows that a feast awaits him
If he'd stay his course and fast;
If he told his heart "Avast!"
And focused on that bold attack.
He must steel himself. He must
Never let his honor rust.